


Reminiscence

by CheshireKatt357



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Family, Gen, Gender-Neutral Point of View, Happy Ending, Storytelling, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:52:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshireKatt357/pseuds/CheshireKatt357
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future. - Lewis B. Smedes</p>
<p>Susan tells her grandchild about Narnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memoirs of a Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenrane18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenrane18/gifts).



> My first real multi-chapter for my personal mewse. Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living. - Marcus Tullius Cicero
> 
> Yesterday is but today's memory, and tomorrow is today's dream. - Khalil Gibran

**Chapter One: Memoirs of a Queen**

      I remember when I was a child, about six or seven, my parent sent me to live with my gran at the family country home for the summer. I was both excited – she lived in a huge house with lots of room and plenty of land to explore – and anxious – I had been told of how strict and intolerant gran was.

     When I arrived at gran’s house, I was given free reign of the house and grounds, I just had to be inside by sunset which was simple enough. Gran and I had settled into an easy routine: I’d run around to my heart’s content, join her for dinner, and then we’d retire to her sitting room where she would sit by the hearth with her needlework and I would lounge wherever lounge wherever with a book.

     Mind you, now, it was the English countryside, so it wasn’t always sunny and pleasant. So when the inevitable rainy day came, I found myself lounging in my Gran’s sitting room well before noon.

     I sighed heavily and gran asked, “Have you explored the entire house?”

     “Enough.” I’d answered.

     All the rooms were the same, dusty and full of relics from another time. They’d lost their novelty very quickly.

     “Gran?”

     “Yes?”

     “Could you tell me a story?” I requested.

     “Can’t you get a storybook?” she countered.

     “Well, yes, but I’d like to hear a story I won’t hear or read anywhere else.”

     “And what makes you think I know such a story?” I shrugged and sat next to her chair, propping my arms and head on the arm of her chair.

     “Your eyes.” Gran froze, blinked, and turned to look at me.

     “What?”

     “Your eyes;” I repeated. “They have the look of someone who’s seen a lot of interesting things.”

     Gran got this strange, longing, faraway look to her face. She blinked a few times and I almost thought she was blinking back tears. Then she went back to her sewing and I thought for sure I would be given the silent treatment for the next few days at least.

     “There once were four children,” Gran began, “who were sent from their war-torn home to the safety of the countryside. Peter was the eldest, a thirteen year old with blonde hair and blue eyes. As the eldest, he was the protector. Susan was the second, with long, dark hair and blue eyes. She was a prideful girl who exulted logic. Edmund was the third, with dark hair and eyes, and freckles on his pale skin. He was kind and sweet, but as he got older he became bitter and wretched. The youngest was Lucy, with dark hair and blue eyes. She was the innocent joy of the group. The four were ordinary enough, but they had a great destiny to fill.

     “It all started on a rainy day like this with a game of hide-and-seek and a wardrobe.”

     I listened, enraptured, as my gran told me the story of the world in the wardrobe and the Golden Age of Narnia.

     “One day, the faun Tumnus told the kings and queens of the appearance of the White Stage – a creature rumored to grant any who catch it a wish – in Western Narnia.”

     “Did they catch it?”

     “No, they did not. They found themselves in Lantern Waste, the edge of their realm. In the middle of the forest was a strangely familiar lamppost.

     “As if from a dream of a dream.

     “Lucy suddenly exclaimed, “Spare Oom!” and took off into the wood on foot, as she was wont to do. And as the royals pushed through the cluster of trees, they found the trees transformed into coats. The further they went into the thicket, the less room they had to move until they were trampling on each other and shouting at one another, but none of them noticed their voices and bodies changing. Not until they tumbled out of the wardrobe in the spare room of the country house in England did they realize they were as young as they were when they left – all remnants of their time in Narnia gone save for their memories.”

     “How sad.”

     “Yes; yes, it was.”

     “Did they ever go back to Narnia?”

     “That, dear one, is a story for another time.” Gran smiled, then looked as if someone had slapped her across the face with a fish.

     “Time for bed, I think.” she declared.

     “Gran?”

     “Yes?”

     “Will you tell me another story tomorrow?”

     “If it is raining.”

     “Good night, gran.” I said as I left the sitting room.

     “Good night,” she hesitated before adding, “dear one.”


	2. Little Things Make Big Things Happen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the little details that are vital. Little things make big things happen. - John Wooden
> 
> When you're true to who you are, amazing things happen. - Deborah Norville

**Chapter Two: Little Things Make Big Things Happen**

     Over the next week, Gran told me about the train that took the Royal Children, as I called them, to a feral Narnia that had forgotten Aslan and how they’d restored faith and the throne, and of a painting that swallowed the two youngest and their cousin and spat them out in the Eastern Sea.

     It had taken her a while to tell me the story of the _Dawn Treader_. On the one hand, Gran only told me stories on rainy days. On the other hand, I was so upset to hear that Peter and Susan could never return to Narnia that I refused to hear anymore.

     Two days after I’d declared that I would hear no more, Gran looked at me while we sat in her sitting room after dinner – her with her needlework and me with a dull, old book.

     “Things happen for a reason, dear one,” she said. “You shouldn’t run away just because you don’t like the outcome.”

     Even though she said the words to me, I had the funniest feeling that he wasn’t actually talking to me.

     Looking back now, I realize she wasn’t.

     Anyway, the next rainy day I sat down next to her chair with my arms and head resting on the arm – how I’d sat for every story she told me – and asked for another tale of Narnia, and that was when she told me about the voyage of the _Dawn Treader_.

     She didn’t go as in depth on this story, almost as if she didn’t really know it, as if she’d heard it second hand (and through a wall). I loved it none the less.

     The next rainy day, I went and asked for another tale of Narnia.

     She’d laughed sadly and said, “Dear one, I have no more stories of Narnia.”

     “So, the Kings and Queens of Old never went back? What about Eustace?”

     “Eustace did have another adventure, but I don’t know much about it. Just that he was accompanied by a girl from his school. As for the others, well, they did go on one last adventure.

     “Narnia was in danger and all of them heard the call. They gathered: Peter, Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace, the girl who joined Eustace on his second journey, the Professor – the owner of the country house, and his housekeeper.”

     “What about Susan?”

     “Susan had stopped believing in Narnia and forgot her past. She turned her back on her people and her true home.”

     “Why!”

     “She couldn’t bear with being taken away from her true home, nor being barred entry forever after.”

     “How sad.”

     “Yes, but this is no longer her story.

     “The seven gathered to return to Narnia, and then they were gone.”

     “Gone? You mean they made it to Narnia?”

     “I hope so, dear one. And I imagine they saved it quite spectacularly.”

     “Tell me more.” I begged.

     Gran shook her head.

     “There is nothing more for me to tell. I’ve told you all I could. Now, off you go. This is such a big house full of so many nooks and crannies; you’re bound to find something exciting.”

     I pouted as I made my way out of the sitting room.

     Exciting indeed. The only exciting thing was Narnia, and I doubted that I would get Gran to repeat any of the stories she’d told me. And it wasn’t like I was going to just stumble upon –

     I stopped dead in the doorway of an upstairs spare bedroom. It was completely empty save for the large wardrobe in the middle of the room. I walked towards the wardrobe, reaching for the handle, before I stopped short and drew my hand back.

     There was _no way_ this was _the_ wardrobe.

     Was I really going to walk into a wardrobe to see if it led to a mystical land my gran had told me about?

     I eyed the wardrobe.

     “What’s the worst that could happen” I demanded of myself.

     I opened the door and stepped in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to be updated every day... Obviously, that didn't happen. So now it's a weekly update.


	3. The Legend Comes True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rejoice with your family in the land of life. – Albert Einstein

**Chapter Three: The Legend Comes True**

The wardrobe was full of fur coats, as to be expected. I made my way to the back of the wardrobe, pushing the coats out of my way when I got the shock of a lifetime. While shoving one coat sleeve aside, I got smacked in the face by a branch! I stared, gob smacked, at the branch before it sunk in.

“I didn’t.” I said to myself.

“I _did not_.”

I shoved through the last of the coats and tumbled out of the wardrobe…straight into a riverbed.

I spluttered as I pulled myself up.

“She said the wardrobe opened to a clearing with a lamppost in the centre!”

I looked around: nope, definitely no lamppost.

“Hullo there!” a cheerful woman called from behind me.

I shrieked, jumped in shock, tried to spin around in the same motion, slipped on a rock, and fell back into the shallow water.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked rushing towards me.

She was quite beautiful with leaves and flowers woven into her sun-bleached brown hair and a red dress with a pale blue underdress.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I’m all right.” I answered, standing again.

Two shouts of “Lucy!” preceded two men who came barreling into the dell. The elder of the two had blonde hair and blue eyes, and the younger had dark hair and eyes and a smattering of freckles on his nose.

It hit me, then, who I stood before.

“I’m all right. I just frightened this poor child. Oh, you’re soaked through!”

“Come, lady, let’s get you dry.” The eldest said holding out a hand. “Allow me to introduce us. I am –”

“High King Peter the Magnificent.”

The man froze in his bowed posture. I looked next to the dark haired man.

“Your brother, King Edmund the Just,” then I looked to the woman. “And your sister, Queen Lucy the Valiant.”

“So you are from Narnia, then?” King Edmund asked.

“No, I,”

Suddenly it made sense in my child’s logic. I would like to point out that children are more insightful than adults give them credit for. Naïve and innocent though they may be, some of the greatest truths are spoken by the lips of children. And so it was with the certainty of a child that I spoke my next words.

“I’m from Spare Oom. My gran is your other sister.”

The royals, my great aunt and uncles, gapped at me.

“Susan?”

“Well, it makes sense, what with how she only knows the tale of Narnia through to the crowning of Prince Caspian. The tale of the Dawn Treader was really vague. Can you tell me more about it?” I asked Aunt Lucy.

“What about Eustace’s second adventure?” I turned to Uncle Edmund. “I don’t know anything about that other than he was with a girl.”

“And what of returning to Narnia? How did you do it?”

“One question at a time.” Uncle Peter ordered when I rounded on him.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable and get you out of those wet clothes first?” Aunt Lucy suggested.

Everyone nodded and agreed, and I followed my relatives – wasn’t that a thought! – away from the riverbed. And away from the wardrobe.


	4. A Family Narrative

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future. - Alex Haley
> 
> One of the things that binds us as a family is a shared sense of humor. - Ralph Fiennes

**Chapter Four: A Family Narrative**

Aunt Lucy lent me one of her dresses, a beautiful green and yellow dress. Then she lead me to the meadow were my uncles had set up lunch. Apparently, they had also summoned Eustace, his friend and companion, Jill, Professor Kirke, Polly Plummer – who wasn’t the housekeeper, but an old friend of the Professor’s – and King Caspian.

Uncle Edmund was the first to speak after I’d sat at the low, round table.

“Susan told you about Narnia?”

“Yes, but only on rainy days.”

Uncle Edmund scratched his nose.

“Am I the only one surprised by this?” he asked the group.

“No, but I don’t think she’s lying, Ed.” Uncle Peter answered.

“Maybe she’s confused Susan with her gran.”

I leveled him with a look.

“Can you think of anyone else in England who could possibly know of Narnia?” I demanded.

I was met with silence.

“Well, that settles it then.” Aunt Lucy said.

“That is a rather good point, yes.” Eustace agreed.

“Not just that! That look! That was the patented Edmund Pevensie You-Are-Doing-or-Saying-Something-Incredibly-Stupid look.”

“She’s right.” Uncle Peter concurred. “They’re definitely related, which means Sue has begun to remember Narnia; unless,” he turned to Uncle Edmund. “There’s something you want to tell us related to how there’s a child here that seems to be related to you.”

“Yeah,” he snapped. “Shove off!”

“Easy,” Aunt Lucy stepped in.

“Peter said you had some questions for us?” King Caspian prompted to change the subject.

“Oh, so many! The first thing I want to know is what happened on the Dawn Treader.”

Uncle Edmund, Aunt Lucy, Eustace, and Caspian took turns telling their story, often interrupting each other to correct or clarify.

When they’d finished, I stared at Eustace the Un-Dragoned.

“Let me guess; you want to hear about my adventure next.”

“Our adventure!” Jill corrected.

“Yes, yes, anyway,”

I listened as Eustace and Jill talked over each other to tell their story to find Caspian’s lost son and defeat the Lady of the Green Kirtle.

And when they’d finished, Peter immediately launched into the story of how Narnia was lost and reborn.

A solemn moment of silence followed.

“Would you like to hear the story of how Narnia was born?” Professor Kirke wondered.

“Oh, yes, please!”

So the professor told his and Polly’s story, and the creation of Narnia.

Once that tale was over, I turned back to my aunt and uncles.

“Tell me again, how it happened.” I begged.

“How what happened?” Uncle Edmund questioned.

“Your story, your time in Narnia.”

“You mean the Golden Age?”

“That and everything before and after.”

Aunt Lucy smiled.

“It all started with a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe.” she began.


	5. Birth of the Biographer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actions are the seed of fate deeds grow into destiny. - Harry S. Truman
> 
> Let us follow our destiny, ebb and flow. Whatever may happen, we master fortune by accepting it. - Virgil

**Chapter Five: Birth of the Biographer**

“Aslan!” Eustace greeted.

Everyone bowed before the Great Lion.

“Greetings, everyone.”

I took one look at the mighty cat and frowned.

“I have to leave, don’t I?” I asked him.

He padded up to me and butted his head against mine.

“Your story is just beginning, dear one, and while it may end here, it does not take place here.”

I tilted my head.

“Did she learn that from you?”

“Yes, dear one. And it is thanks to you that she allowed herself to remember.”

I smiled and stood, dusting myself off needlessly.

“So, any messages for my gran?”

“Tell her Narnia is well.” Uncle Peter said.

“And that Cair Paravel is still short a queen.” Uncle Edmund added.

“Tell her we miss her.” Aunt Lucy requested. I nodded.

“It is time.” Aslan said.

I followed him back to the river and the trees that hid the wardrobe.

“I’m not coming back, am I?”

“In time, dear one.” I reached out and hugged the lion.

“I won’t ever forget.” I vowed.

“You won’t.” Aslan agreed.

And then I was in the wardrobe.

That night at dinner, Gran asked me if I found anything interesting.

“Apparently,” I began, “There’s a river in the wardrobe in Spare Oom. Sorry, I meant to say “the spare room.””

Gran froze and looked at me before carefully putting down her cutlery.

“Is that so?”

I nodded.

“I was also asked to convey a message from the local royalty to the Gentle Queen – well, actually, it’s a series of messages. Narnia is well; there’s still an empty throne in Cair Paravel – wait, no, that wasn’t it, it was ‘Cair Paravel is still short a queen’; and that she is missed.”

I looked up from my fingers to see tears in my gran’s eyes.

“How nice. I hope she gets them.”

“Oh, she did.” I smiled and went back to eating.

When my parents picked me up the next week, I begged for them to let us spend the winter holiday at the family house. Imagine their surprise when I sat in the sitting room telling my younger cousins of the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe with Gran interrupting with corrections.

I grew up to be a successful writer. The story of the Pevensies’ adventures in Narnia is quite popular. Several film companies have approached me about giving life to my stories. I’m married now with two beautiful children of my own who love the stories, and I will be proud to pass our family legacy on to them one day, but that day is not today.


	6. The End of the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're true to who you are, amazing things happen. - Deborah Norville
> 
> Adapt yourself to the life you have been given; and truly love the people with whom destiny has surrounded you. - Marcus Aurelius

**Chapter Six: The End of the Beginning**

Gran died in her sleep as the last vestiges of winter were lost to spring; something I found beautifully poetic and I took it as a sign that she had finally been returned to her true home. She left the family country house to me – the one who was closest to her – and so I was quick to move my family in (and less quick to move everything out).

So when my children came running, calling out in urgent happiness, I was not at all surprised.

“Guess what?” said my son.

“The wardrobe in the spare room leads to a river?”

“No?” There was a lilt to my son’s voice that suggested that he was not expecting that response.

“The seascape on the second floor swallowed you and spat you out in the ocean?”

“Not the seascape, but the lion!” said my daughter.

I froze and frowned.

“What lion?”

“The painting!”

As far as I knew, we didn’t have a painting of a lion.

“Show me.” I demanded.

My children lead me to the third floor where the golden sunlight fell onto a stunning painting of a meadow – a very familiar meadow.

“Well, there was a lion.” my son grumbled.

I smiled and drew my children to my sides.

“I believe you.” I said. “But you can’t really expect him to stay, now can you? After all it’s not as if He’s a tame lion.”

My children gazed at me in awe.

“You’ve met him?” my daughter whispered reverently.

“Of course!” I crouched down to their level.

“Now, what was it He summoned you for?”

“We’re to tell the Royal Historian Record Keeper that a place has been reserved for when the time comes.”

“And that the Gentle Queen fills the fourth throne in Cair Paravel with many thanks to the Royal Historian Record Keeper.”

I smiled and nodded.

Good. Gran was home at long last.

Apparently either she or Aslan had relayed what I did for a living, though I wondered who came up with Royal Historian Record Keeper – that was a little redundant.

“How fairs Narnia?” I wondered aloud, opening my eyes.

My son frowned before intently looking me in the eyes. “Peace reigns eternal.”

I smiled and bowed my head.

“May it always be so.”

A roar echoed silently in the hall, in our hearts. My children looked at me in equal parts awe and fear.

“Aslan is with us, always. Now, shall we find out if I can write fiction? I think Narnia has just gained herself a knight and a lady.”

“And a Royal Historian Record Keeper!” my daughter chirped.

“Yes, and a Historian Record Keeper.”

I could no doubt fit all three of us in a book. Perhaps I could place it in the autumn of the Golden Age. Yes, a tale of trying to keep the old ways alive in different means: by preserving, by remembering, and by being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Sorry about the delay. I had a busy weekend, and then the internet went out.  
> 2) Just a little "right-in-the-feels" note: when I was writing this, first I wrote it by hand in one night, then I typed it up. When I was typing it, I was listening to this playlist I made (I Remember Fondly That First Winter With You). The last song on the playlist is Time to Go Home from the Voyage of the Dawntreader soundtrack. I listened through that playlist twice to write up the story. Second time 'round, I'm finishing up the last chapter and what should be playing? Time to Go Home. I thought it really emotional and fitting, and I just wanted to share that.  
> 3) Thanks for reading.


End file.
